Menke turned to Tezcot, and said:

"Say, Tez, wish ye'd jine me in a trip across the mountain to-day.

Can't do it, eh?"

"Not to-day, Menke; it would spoil Mit's sport. Some other day I'll go with you."

"All right, Tez; ye know yer own business. The mornin's goin' right fast, an' I'll have to be goin' with it, ef I'd get roun' 'fore night.

Good mornin', Princess."

"Good morning, and success attend you, Menke," she returned.

With a parting word to his friend Tezcot the hunter left them, moving rapidly up the mountain, and was soon lost to view among the timber.

Tezcot and Mitla, at a later hour, awoke to the fact that they were farther from home than they had intended to go at starting out. They were more than a league and a half away, and the hunter thought it time to call a halt. Their hunt had proven fairly successful, quite a bunch of game having been secured, rendering the excursion very satisfactory.

"Father," said Mitla, when a return had been decided on, "let us visit the hermit's cave, on our way, going home. I have not been there for a long time."

"If a visit to the hermit would please ye, Mit, we'll go that way."

"Thank you, father; it would, indeed, please me very much to visit the hermitage again."

So it was settled the hermitage should receive a visit from them.

The hermit's cave was the abode of a recluse, whose ident.i.ty and previous life were a profound mystery. By accompanying the hunter and Mitla to it, we will at least get an insight into the character of the man.

About a league from Tezcot's house was a long, narrow, and dark ravine.

It was fully a half mile in length, and was inwalled on either side by steep elevations. Its gloomy wildness was seemingly filled with an awe-inspiring presence, and only a few of the denizens of the mountainous range would venture into it. Stories were told of strange sights and sounds haunting its lonely recesses, which readily found credence in the minds of the more superst.i.tious of them.

Tezcot, and a few other fearless hunters of the locality, took the stories for what they were--creations of fancy or design, and occasionally explored the place in quest of game.

Since the advent of the hermit on the mountain, which took place some years prior to the incidents narrated here, these bolder mountaineers might have been seen at intervals cautiously invading its solitudes, going, in most cases, to the hermitage to visit its strange occupant.

The ravine was situated east and west, and those who were familiar with its dark depths found it most easily entered from the eastern terminus.

When Tezcot and Mitla arrived there, they went in without hesitation.

They found the ground rough, and frequently quite sloping, yet made good progress over it.

After going some distance into the ravine, they turned toward the south, and began the ascent of the steep acclivity in that direction, along a natural depression in its side.

Going well up out of the ravine they made a turn to the west, and went around the side of a mountain until they came to a dense growth of underbrush, which had the appearance, in its denseness, of being impenetrable. Tezcot, however, knew the ground well, and quickly found a place that would admit of their pa.s.sing through. When they came out on the opposite side of the thicket, it was to find themselves on a kind of shelf in the side of the mountain, at the back of which rose an almost perpendicular wall of rock. Following this rocky wall for a short distance back, they came to a great recess in its face, which had the appearance of a natural vestibule. In the rear of this recess was an opening, which proved to be the entrance to a cavern. Tezcot went familiarly forward, pa.s.sing through the aperture into a tunnel-shaped cave, which appeared as running far back into the mountain. The interior was only dimly lighted from the entrance; yet the semi-darkness did not seem to impede the hunter's movement, for he went confidently in, until he came to an opening in the side of the tunnel, before which he stopped, and gave a peculiar signal.

In response to the signal there presently appeared before the visitors the form of a man dimly outlined in the faint light of the cavern. In a voice which was deep and solemn, he inquired:

"Who would break in on the solitude of Ix, the anchorite?"

"Tezcot, the anchorite's friend, and Mitla, his child, who have come to pay their respects to him, and hear again the words of wisdom which his lips are wont to speak," replied the hunter, respectfully.

"Tezcot and his are ever welcome in the home of Ix, the hermit. Enter, and find rest."

Tezcot laid aside his hunter's outfit, and, followed by Mitla, pa.s.sed into the recluse's lonely abode.

The cell, or room, occupied by the hermit as a habitation, was a natural cavity in the side of the main cavern, situated, as we have seen, some distance back from the entrance. It was square shaped, and answered well the purpose for which it was used.

A burning taper shed a dim and sickly glimmer over the room, giving barely light enough to reveal its contents. At one side of the apartment was a couch, made up of animals' skins, and opposite to it a rough table, on which was placed a burning taper.

Such was the scanty furnishment of the hermit's cell, except the necessary arms of a hunter, with which he was supplied, and which were lying and hanging about the room.

Good friends, like Tezcot, would often give the recluse sufficient provisions to last for days, yet he would sometimes venture out on the mountain, when no eye was near to watch him, in quest of game, which he seldom failed to secure, for he handled his weapons with efficiency.

His food was prepared in the main cavern, leaving his cell free from that inconvenience.

A question frequently asked, but never answered, was: "Who is he, this Ix, the hermit?" He was in truth, and to all, a man of mystery.

The more ignorant of the mountaineers--those who believed the ravine haunted--thought the mysterious individual superhuman in character, and shunned the locality as an abode of spirits. Ix encouraged this feeling and belief among them, so far as he could, though always very grateful to the few who were above such notions, and who were ever welcome visitors to his cavern home.

The hermit could afford no better accommodations than skins thrown on the ground, as a protection, to sit on, and his visitors were seated in this manner. When they were comfortably settled, the anchorite said:

"How is it with my wise friend--thyself, O Tezcot, and those who share with thee the bounteous favors which bless thy mountain home?"

"It is well with us. And thou, O friend, hath good or evil come to make or mar thy peace, of late?" replied the hunter inquiringly.

"My lonely life is seldom interrupted. Its simplicity could only lead to peace if the mind were less active. But who can say, O, mind, be still, and trouble not thyself with what is past, or what may come?"

The hermit's words showed that he was not in his usual temper of mind.

They indicated that his meditations sometimes disturbed him. On no previous occasion had Tezcot heard him intimate that disquieting recollections were ever present to interrupt the peacefulness of his lonely life. And yet, why not? The man had not always been a hermit.

The surprise to Tezcot was in the yielding of his habitual restraint upon his speech, so far as to give utterance to such a thought. He did not immediately respond to the hermit, and, after a moment's pause, the latter continued:

"You have come from the world of light, O Tezcot, and know much that is dark to Ix. If it please you, will you tell me something of what is pa.s.sing there? How fares it with the people in the valley?"

"Why should Ix, the hermit, who has gone from the world to find seclusion in a mountain fastness, seek knowledge concerning the people and of what is pa.s.sing beyond? Does the anchorite tire of his lonely mountain cell, and long for a place among them, that he turns from his solitude to inquire after the people's welfare?"

"Tezcot is wise, but he reads only from that which his eyes behold.

There are sealed records from which even he can not read. Ix is one of these to all the world, yet not without his sorrows. Memory is not less bright because of the darkness which hides external things," rejoined the hermit, with deep pathos in his voice.

"Tezcot is rebuked," returned he, regretfully. "The wisdom of Ix is greater than his. The hermit's desire to learn something of what is pa.s.sing among the people in the valley shall be gratified. There is peace on the beautiful Anahuac, and the people appear to be happy; still, there is unrest and repining beneath it all. The signs bespeak a coming storm--not of the heavens, which we wot of when the sky is overcast and chains of fire flash across it--nor yet when the waters descend and the thunder's deep and awful voice is heard. No, it is not a storm like that, but one in which the pa.s.sions of men shall sway them as the tempest sways the mighty tree; a storm in which blood shall flow and once more stain and soil the beautiful face of Anahuac; and sorrow shall find place in the hearts of many people, and lamentation shall ascend."

The voice of the hunter was like one inspired. The hermit felt it, and replied:

"The language of Tezcot is the language of a prophet. Whose hand is in the strifeful storm of which he foretells?"

"The hand of Maxtla, king at the royal city of Azcapozalco, is in it,"

answered the hunter.

At the mention of Maxtla's name, an expression of fierceness came over the hermit's face, but the taper's dim light did not reveal it. He inquired, in a voice in which there was evident displeasure, causing the hunter to give him a closer look:

"Where is the old destroyer of Tezcucan liberty, Tezozomoc, that Maxtla is king at Azcapozalco?"

"The old king is dead," replied Tezcot.